The Third Man Part II
by Astarte19
Summary: Sequel to The Third Man. Set after season 2 of Buffy. Starts very much in reverse to the part one: Helen (OC) returns from Sunnydale to London, hoping to resume her former teaching post at Hogwarts, while Giles is dealing with her and Buffy's leaving. But their paths will soon cross again.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Disclaimer: This is a Harry Potter/Buffy-crossover

_AN: This is a sequel to The Third Man that I decided to post as a new entry, though I'm still not sure if that's a good idea, so I'd appreciate an advice. The Third Man got very long and this sequel will probably be just as long as well, as I plan to end somewhere in season 5. _

_For anyone who hasn't read the first part – this sequel starts at the end of Buffy's season 2, or rather before the start of season 3. In the HP-verse it's three years after the battle of Hogwarts._

_I know I've kept a lot of stuff open in the first part, many questions unanswered (like the stolen council books, the weird magic-(not)-working in Sunnydale). They should all be resolved at some point, but it will take some time. Right now, things were left in a pretty depressing place, for Giles especially..._

_Sorry for my English (looking for betas...)_

* * *

The short flight from the Sunnydale airport to LA was maddening. Helen was so agitated that she didn't take any notice of anything or anyone around her, and only the thought and her certainty that she was doing the right thing kept her from breaking down. When she changed the plane in LA to fly to London, she dared to slip a drop of the sleeping draught into her glass of water, the same potion she had added into Giles' whiskey glass the evening before. She closed her eyes. _It was the right thing... _she said to herself again... _I'm sorry._ _But I don't regret it. _And then she fell into a dreamless, deep sleep that would last almost the whole twelve hours of the flight.

It was early morning in London when she landed, the mid-July sun was shining and Helen was grateful for that, she thought that the usual London weather with its grey sky and dismal clouds and rain would make her lose it on her way to her apartment in Bloomsbury. She unlocked the door with a short notion of wondering whether this was the life she would have now – crossing this doorsill every day from now on. She never liked the place, or rather – she never really thought much about it, lacking any real attachment to it as it was. The thing she would most likely associate with it was that it was the place she went to when there was no better one to be staying at. It was ungrateful and she felt a little guilty towards the three hollow, barely furnished rooms for treating them as an orphan child. But – she bought it after Claudius had died and after her auror-apprentice year six years ago, only to leave it a few weeks later to teach at Hogwarts. And she merely returned there almost four years later, after the battle and after that infamous ritual she had tried to perform to efface her magic – when again there seemed to be no other place for her to go. She spent a few months there and then left for Sunnydale. And now, two years after that, here she was again, standing in her half empty anteroom, staring at the blank, cold walls that were about as welcoming as a dental surgery.

She threw her small magically reduced bag on a dresser, then walked over to the living room and sat down on the sofa that still looked almost new. She looked around the room, a tiny bump was building up in her throat, something very close to panic was beginning to seize her. If she had been expecting some answers to pop into her head as to what she should do next the moment she would enter this home, then she was disappointed. The only thing she could think of was that this place could never be her home, that no matter what she'd do to it, she would never _feel_ like home here. Though as frustrating as that was, she swallowed through that bump, whispering again – _It was the right thing to do_.

_In Sunnydale_

"I still can't believe how she could that to him," Willow was saying for the third time, as her, Xander, Oz and Cordelia were sitting at the Bronze, talking about Buffy, Giles' last trip to find her and about Helen's leaving.

"Hmpf," Cordelia smirked impatiently, "it was the first smart thing she did, when you ask me."

Xander and Willow looked at her outraged, Oz merely raised his brows, which in his case meant almost the same.

"Oh, please," Cordelia continued, "tell me – what kind of a life would she have here with him anyway? A constantly knocked-out librarian, former Watcher, a loser on just sooo many levels, and now just as slayer-less as the next guy, I mean – let's be honest, Buffy and the whole Slayer-thing were his best assets... what kinda future would that be for her living in a school library, on top of a hellmouth that will never run out of its demons and sleazy monsters that _always_ ruin your clothes... not that she had that good taste in dressing, but still... I say - good for her."

"Ou-kayyy," Xander said, "just-eh... make sure you never say it in front of Giles..."

Willow however was still not content. "That's a terrible thing to say... And I'm sure it wasn't like that."

"Uhm... I don't really know her that well," Oz spoke for the first time, "but to me at least it seems like a pretty cruel thing, leaving him right now, after Buffy had disappeared too... I mean, he was already quite down because of _that_..."

Willow looked at him with her big sad eyes. She liked Helen, she couldn't believe that she would hurt Giles this much without a good reason.

"Yeah, well, maybe her going away had nothing to do with Buffy," Xander said with a shrug and pointed towards the pool table that finally got free, he was hoping to end the gloomy conversation that was only making them feel worse.

_London_

"Hey, you there!" A familiar voice sounded behind Helen, when she was walking down the Diagon Alley a few days later, on her way to the Gringotts. She turned around, startled, she hadn't counted on meeting anyone close.

George Weasley walked towards her, with a surprised smile, but Helen didn't miss the stealthy scrutinizing look either as his eyes wandered over her from top to bottom.

"Hello, George," she greeted him with a false ease and waited for him.

"What are you doing here? I've been trying to reach you since a great couple of days, but you never were home..." He paused observing her closely. "I assume things are great then... in paradise," he added, but Helen knew from his look that he sensed the opposite. And she also knew that there was no way to delude him, for – strange as it may seem – he was the one person she could keep no secrets from. Or almost none. Besides, it may be for the best if she told him, told someone, anyone.

"Are you on holiday?" He asked, when she hadn't reply immediately.

"Uhm... not exactly... I-ah... I'm back... for good," she wouldn't meet his eyes saying this, but continued: "Listen, do you perhaps-ah... want to go for a lunch somewhere? I only have pounds so far, I was on my way to Gringotts, but we could go to some muggle restaurant, I'm in no hurry."

"Well, _I_ _am _actually," he replied, and Helen thought there was a very faint trace of irritation in his voice. "As I assume you still don't know, but I am a fresh father now of a two weeks old boy."

When she opened her mouth in surprise, he added sarcastically: "You _do_ remember my wife was pregnant?"

"I-ah...," she didn't know what say and felt embarrassed that she hadn't asked about him at all. Truth be said, given all the stuff that was going on in _her_ world she had forgotten all about George's and Angelina's baby.

George slapped her shoulder as a gesture of appeasement: "Tell you what. I really must run now, have to buy some things and stop by the Burrow, but we can meet later. How about day after tomorrow? Here? Noontime?"

She nodded, George smiled contentedly and with bow of his head he turned to leave.

"Give my congratulations and best wishes to Angelina!" She cried after him and watched him wave a hand before he would disappear in the crowd.

_Sunnydale_

Giles thought that the sooner he accept the fact that she was gone, the sooner he'd be better off. And he was trying, hard. Yet the one unanswered question kept torturing him. Why? Why did she leave? And then another joined in – why hadn't he seen it? Why hadn't he noticed anything? How could it be that he did not see it coming? What happened? Should he have insisted on her talking to him more? During the first weeks after the episode with Rodolphus Lestrange she seemed to have opened herself more... and yes, she was clearly troubled towards the end, he did see that, but so was everyone else, the burden of Angel's curse was an all their shoulders in a way, putting all of them under pressure...

The fact that every other day he would wake up and have forgotten that she was gone wasn't making it easier for him either. And there were moments when he thought he heard a melody played from downstairs. The piano was still open, a pile of notes laid on top of it. He was thinking about selling it.

Also, sometimes at night he could still feel the touch of her skin, he thought he felt her small hand resting on his chest, or one of her legs intertwined with his, like people who occasionally still used to feel their lost limb.

It was annoying... having all these _feelings_, and quite irksome too, he thought. But thankfully the holiday's end was approaching and he was glad to soon be returning to the one job he still had left. He already made a few plans for some reorganising in the library and he almost managed to convince himself that it would be a through and through necessary act, not merely a tiresome and arduous enterprise that would keep him occupied and distracted for a decent period of time. _Actually, why not start right now and here_... he thought while his eyes wandered over the bookshelves in his flat.

_London_

"You look horrible," George opened their conversation when he and Helen met two later, being his usual blunt self.

She merely raised her brows. "Thanks. So do you," she replied dryly, referring to the dark circles under his eyes.

"Well, I've just become a father, it feels like I had as much as two hours of sleep during the past two weeks. What's your excuse?" He asked and Helen heard the exhaustion in his voice.

She paused for a moment, playing with her teaspoon.

"Helen?" He interrupted her musings again, leaning closer to her over the table, and gave her that look that demanded the whole truth. "What are you doing here?"

So she told him about everything that had happened in Sunnydale, about Acathla, Buffy and Giles, about Angel, and the haunting nightmares, and about the painting with the cherry blossom.

When she finished, George glared at her incredulously. "So let me check if I'm getting this right. You left him – after Buffy had ran away without a word – you left him too... _because of a couple of bad dreams_? Really?"

"I don't expect you to fully understand... I cannot explain-" She tried to defend herself.

"I can see that." He said coldly and when she wasn't saying anything, but kept shaking her head in a desperate search for better words, he asked her with a clear reproach in his voice: "Have you thought about what you did to him when you left?"

"I _was_ thinking of _him_ by leaving!" She said, getting more and more frustrated by his reactions.

"Oh were you now?"

She took a deep breath. "I miss him," her voice broke. "I miss him every minute... But I don't regret leaving, I felt-... I _know_ it was the right thing to do, it felt like it, as the only way," she added firmly.

"Right for whom exactly?"

Again silence. She was looking him in the eyes, furrowing her brows, bewildered and also daunted, feeling him slipping through her fingers as he neither seemed willing to understand, nor to approve, or at least to offer a consolation.

"Helen, I love you, I really do. I just think that you're a very bizarre and very stupid fool, and I don't like you right now..." Her eyes widened while she was wondering where this was going.

After a brief pause George continued mercilessly: "You know, everyone has moved on... we _all _have moved on with our lives, except for you. Despite everything you've done in the past few years... You keep doing the same shit over and over again."

She looked at him, hurt and aghast. "What are you talking about?" She asked whispering.

"It's like you're still stuck in this parallel universe of yours, where everything is revolving around Helen, all things happen to Helen and everything happens because of Helen," he drawled, "you just...," he shook his head in disbelief... "you amaze me... really," then added in an angry fed up tone: "and I've had it till here with that."

Helen stared at him with an open mouth, as he went on: "I've had it with being your babysitter... Plus I've just become a father and there's only so much babysitting I can take. You'll excuse me now, I have to attend now to an actual child." He got up all of a sudden, took his bag and was about to storm out, but paused once again looking at her. It was impossible to read his face.

"You could have done so well there," he said in a low voice and resignation echoed in it, even sadness. "You were so happy last winter, I saw that... And now you've returned here – to London – to do what? I-I don't know what you want from me, 'cause... you're _beyond_ any help." He saw he must have hurt her. "I really must go now. I'll see you." He gave her one last look that could have been a failed smile, then turned around and left.

She was utterly perplexed. She remained sitting in the café for almost half an hour after George had left. He seemed to have taken it as a personal offence that she was back, she wondered why. She couldn't remember ever seeing him this harsh and riled, though some of it she accounted to his fresh fatherhood and its joys. She paid the bill like in a trance and slowly walked out of the café, and while making her way to the ministry she kept thinking of George and of his newborn son whom she didn't even get the chance to ask about.

_Sunnydale_

"What the-"? Xander exclaimed when he, Cordelia, Willow and Oz entered Giles' apartment. There were books lying literally everywhere – on the floor, on the kitchen-counters, on the stairs to his bedroom, some were small piles of a two or three pieces, others were dangerously high "towers" of ancient looking volumes.

"I-uh... I am re-organizing," he replied while stepping aside and letting them in.

"So what happened in Cleveland?" Willow demanded as they were fighting their way to the sofa.

He had returned the previous day from another trip where he was looking for Buffy, but again empty-handed. "Nothing," he replied.

"No Buffy?" Oz asked.

"No vampires, no Buffy either," he said simply and looked slightly irritated at the four of them now making themselves comfortable on his sofa. "And I do have a phone," he added glaring at them.

"Yeah, we know," Willow said in a high voice, "but... we-"

"They just wanted to make sure you're not getting hammered or something worse," Cordelia said, clearly bored, "like turning into Ripper and going down _that_ road again." She then grabbed an opened book from the coffee table without looking at anyone. Apparently she had had way better and far more exciting plans for tonight than checking on an old man (_the school librarian _for crying out loud!), but had been overruled by the rest of them.

They all turned at her, with shock written on their faces, except for Giles who seemed to be rather amused. It wasn't like he hadn't guessed why they'd come. They wanted to distract him and didn't want him to be alone too much with Buffy and Helen gone. And though that was actually exactly what he wanted to be right now, he couldn't really be mad at them. So instead of throwing them out, he went to the kitchen to get them some drinks.

"So... you need some help?" Willow asked when he returned, pointing at all the books and the emptied bookracks.

He smiled. "No, but thank you," he replied and sat down into an armchair, moving some books away. "And while I appreciate your-uh... concerns," he frowned briefly at the bizarre notion that a bunch of teenagers have been worrying about him, "next time you can call me... my phone does work."

"See? I told ya, Will. It's not like he's got any reason to unplug it now, right?" Xander joked when his tongue was once more beat his tact. Giles looked at him sharply.

"Xander!" Willow whispered and shot her friend a reproachful glance.

"Sorry," Xander murmured.

"See? This is why I didn't want to go," Cordelia said without raising her eyes from the book she was leaning over.

There was a grotesque silence for a few moments, where everyone was clearly feeling uncomfortable and neither knew what else to say or to do, except – as usually – for Cordelia: "What's a Horcrux?"

* * *

_AN: Thanks for reading! Comments, critics about anything are most welcome, also looking for a beta, I'm pretty sure it's full of grammar errors..._


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

_AN: Surprise, surprise, next chapter up so unusually soon :) I'm afraid it won't become a habit. Thanks for the reviews. I was glad too that George told Helen off :D Let's see how or whether it worked just yet..._

_Though I hate to see Giles suffer, I wanted a little to explore him in a situation like this. The only clues in the series were the few scenes around Jenny's death, but that was quite a different spot he was in, as it was clearly Angel's doing. So here I'm not sure he's still convincing as Giles. Let me know what you think. Would he cause a total rumpus, play the "Ripper-card", get drunk and destroy everything around him in a single fit of rage, or rather suffer in silence, burry himself in books and move on as soon as possible?_

**Sunnydale**

Once sure that Giles wasn't in any immediate danger of doing something stupid, like drinking or hiring a hooker – as Xander put it – the four Scoobies said good night and left his apartment. And when Willow and Xander turned in the door to give him one last look, they saw him with furrowed brows, fully concentrating on the book that Cordelia had been reading in just moments ago, and they exchanged relieved smiles – the old Giles seemed to be back, at least for a while.

It was the book that Helen had ordered George to bring to his apartment a few months ago, the book that contained among other things the ritual which she performed in an attempt to rid herself of her magic. It bore the title _De potestatibus infernis diu exstinctis habitis_ and it had been written, or rather translated from Greek into Latin by a monk named Innocentius in 1346, the Greek original has been lost since then. This translation was over 600 years old, yet extremely well preserved. Given that it had belonged to the Council's Library Giles didn't find that surprising – they always took great care of all their books. This one, however, had been among over a hundred of other volumes, that Quentin Travers had secretly and under the pretext of sending them to a workshop for restoration "lent" to the Death Eaters some time before the battle of Hogwarts. After their defeat the books were found by the aurors like Helen searching through Death Eaters' households on behalf of the Ministry.

She left it here, she had probably forgotten about it and Giles was now browsing through the old, handwritten pages. Cordelia's question about _Horcruxes_ reminded him of something, he had heard the word before, but couldn't remember where. It might have been something he had caught during one of the conversations between Helen and her friends, George or Charlie, or maybe during their short stop at the Burrow when they were on their way to Romania to look for the Kalderash and to watch the dragons near Charlie's and Ileana's home... A string of memories began to flow through his mind and put a brief smile on his face before it became painful.

He re-focused on the book in his hands again, looking for the passage that Cordelia must have been looking at. Since the book was in Latin and Giles was sure that wasn't one of Cordelia's well hidden talents, he guessed that she probably must have seen it in a caption or beneath a picture. While he was skimming through it, he noticed that some parts, however, were not in Latin, but in some signs that he couldn't read, but he recognized them from some objects and phials Helen used to have around. He actually wondered what this book had been doing in the Library of the Watcher's Council and, accordingly, whether there was someone among the Watchers who would be able to decipher those wizarding runes.

And then, almost at the end of the thick volume he finally discovered the heading _In horcruces hirudinum mutationum ritūs ac modi observandi_.

**London**

While loitering through the foyer of the Ministry of Magic Helen ran into Kingsley.

"Oi!" He said loudly as they bumped into each other. "Oh, Helen! What-," he quickly bent down to collect the papers that fell out of his hands, "... nice to see you! I didn't know you were in town..."

"Hello," she greeted him back, rubbing her arm that got hurt as they crashed. "Yeah, I-ah... I'm actually on my way to Hogwarts... I just forgot where the portkeys are. You know I cannot apparate..."

"Right," he nodded and motioned her to follow him towards a hallway on their far left. "It's over there... I wouldn't have thought you'd want to visit another school while you're on holiday," he joked, "but I'm sure-"

"Actually, it's not a mere social call," she interrupted him.

"Oh no?" He looked at her with raised brows.

"No, I-ah...," she dropped her eyes for a moment, "I returned and-ah... I was thinking of getting back to teaching history of magic..."

Suddenly, Kingsley appeared to be in a hurry. "Really? Well-eh..., here it is," he pointed towards a large cauldron made of bronze that served as a portkey to the village of Hogsmeade. "I'm afraid I must go now. Good luck," He gave her a weird, unconvincing smile that left her baffled for a moment. If she didn't know better, she could have sworn he was hiding something from her. She watched him hurry away, then shook her head, thinking she was being paranoid, and stepped closer to the cauldron to touch it.

She landed in the backyard of the Hogsmeade's Owl Post office and made her way towards the castle. She was impressed that there were as good as no traces, no reminders of the battle that had taken place there three years ago and had turned great parts of the castle into ruins. Well, to be entirely honest some of it had been Helen's doing too. But now all seemed restored and looked very much as the image she had of it from the times before the war. There has been, however, one addition to the Hogwarts grounds that had the express purpose to remind the visitors, the students and the staff of the fight against the dark magic and its cost: it was the cemetery for those perished in the battle, now spreading from the bank of the lake to the border of the Forbidden forest. Helen walked past the graves of some of her friends, Tonks, Lupin, determined not to look to her right, where somewhere at the back, closest to the forest her brother and Severus were lying.

She passed Hagrid's hut and exchanged a few words with him. He was busy planting some weird stuff in his garden and looked at her all flustered when he noticed her gaze stopping at the large bag that was fidgeting in his big arms only too lively. Helen decided she better didn't want to know what exactly that was.

The castle itself was deserted. The students were spending their summer holidays with their families, so that the teachers were the only inhabitants of the vast cold stony walls at this time of year. She took her time and was walking slowly in the direction of the headmistress' office, breathing in the very own smell of the old castle that she used to love in her days. Her steps echoed on the tiles and a couple of the portraits that were having their afternoon nap opened their eyes to see who the visitor was. It wasn't until she reached the hallway where Minerva's office was that she finally met a living soul. Professor Flitwick, the charms master, just descended the stairs leading from the said office, holding a piece a parchment in his hands, when he looked up at the sound of Helen's steps.

She saw him narrow his eyes as he was trying to make out who it was in the poorly lit corridor.

"Filius," she said loudly and smiled at him.

Very slowly his features changed too as he finally seemed to have recognized her and smiled back at her, walking to meet her in the middle of the hallway.

"Helena, what a pleasant surprise," he said, as usually calling her by her proper name, and he truly looked pleased, though very much surprised to see her.

They had never really got warm with each other while she was teaching at Hogwarts before. Professor Flitwick belonged to those colleagues who lived and breathed for their subject. They certainly weren't close friends, but have always respected each other and even exchanged a few professional advices during their shared time there, so that she for her part too could say that she was glad to see him again and was looking forward to become his colleague once more. Minerva had asked her a year ago if she wanted to resume her post as the history master. She had refused then, but now things were different and she was hoping she could come back.

"What brings you here? Are you on holiday?" The little professor Flitwick asked.

"Not exactly," she smiled again. "I wrote to Minerva a few days ago that I'd come. I wanted to talk about coming back."

Professor Flitwick looked at her somewhat confused.

"I-ah... I was on my way to her right now," she added, his expression was making her nervous.

"Coming back?" He asked, clearly astonished. "At what position?"

Now it was her turn to be perplex. Why was he asking the obvious? "Well, history of magic of course. I _could_ sub for a potions master as well for a while, but-ah... I'd rather not use my wand that much... But I thought Horace is still teaching, isn't he?"

Flitwick shifted uncomfortably.

"What?" She asked, sensing something bad was coming.

"I-eh...," he began, not sure how to bring her the news, so he decided to stall, "Minerva isn't here right now. She's on holiday, attending to some family business. She probably didn't get your message. She should be back by the end of the next month."

"Oh," was the only sound Helen made. Well, she would have to come back later.

Professor Flitwick gave a loud, resigned sigh. "I hate to be the one to tell you this, as you obviously don't know yet... I wonder why no one has told you... Well, probably no one really expected you to be back so soon from... wherever it was you have been living."

"Sunnydale," Helen said with a sad smile. Though it wasn't intentional his words hurt. A month ago she herself wouldn't have expected to be back so soon.

"Right. Well, as it happens our staff is fully covered now, it has been since the end of the school year," he said carefully.

Helen looked at him as if she wouldn't understand the language he was talking in.

He raised his brows. "It's been three years," he said in a voice, suggesting that she really couldn't be surprised. "It took long enough. We were glad we could finally replace the Bloody Baron. We had been cutting down the history lessons, but still, someone had to teach it."

Helen had heard that because of the lack of new teachers and also due to the fact that there had been still many other things around the castle itself that needed fixing, Minerva – with a heavy heart – resorted to the school ghosts and asked them to temporarily take over the history classes. She also reduced their amount for the time being, until they would find a suitable replacement.

Helen tried not to look too devastated, when she asked: "So, who is it then? Someone I know?"

Flitwick cleared his throat and kept scrunching the piece of parchment in his hands. "Uhhh... I-eh... dare say you do...," he paused, "... it's Lucius Malfoy."

Helen tilted her head and grinned. "Very funny."

**Sunnydale**

"_Rites to be followed... by transformations of... vampires into horcruxes...,_" Giles was murmuring slowly as he read and translated the Latin caption in the book for the third time. What followed were several pages with numbered passages, apparently some sort of an instruction, rules and steps that needed to be considered in order to create a _horcrux_. Whatever that was. There too were parts written in runes that Giles wouldn't be able to understand. Still, be the mere look at the ones in Latin and at the very graphic illustrations that were included into the text Giles got goose bump.

He began to read the old Latin, he got literally swallowed up by the book, occasionally skipping to other chapters the Horcrux article was referring to, and he only raised his eyes hours later, addressing someone invisible when he exclaimed: "What an unspeakable reading! Why in God's name would-?"

He stopped abruptly, realizing that the other armchair he has been talking at was empty. That the image of Helen curled in it, reading something of her own as he had pictured her before he would raise his look from the book, was only inside of his head. He felt embarrassed for a moment, though he was alone. But he was done with feeling angry with her or more even with himself. He closed the book and put it aside, then walked over to his record player to put on some music before he would return back to re-organizing his library.

**Hogwarts**

"Well, Minerva is rather pleased with him," professor Flitwick said while Helen was still recovering from the shock that was _Lucius Malfoy teaching history of magic_.

"Lucius Malfoy? Really?"

Filius Flitwick merely nodded.

"You can't be serious...," she said, still stumped.

"Let's walk," he motioned towards the staircase and they finally moved away from the curious portraits that were perking up their ears to hear more. The summer holidays were always the time of boredom for the residents in the paintings, due to the lack of any scandals: there were no loud arguments in the corridors, no students hiding and making up behind the draperies, no action whatsoever, so that now Helen's arrival and the present discussion seemed to promise at least some excitement and pull them out of their imposed summer lethargy.

"It's a part of the whole rehabilitation project of the Ministry," Flitwick continued in a lower voice as they reached the first floor. "The Azkaban-problem still hasn't been resolved so that they're only keeping there the most-eh... I should say... _stubborn_ cases, with no hope... but others... if possible and if they show themselves willing, are supposed to be-eh... reintegrated into the community..." The tone he was speaking in would give away that he himself wasn't entirely behind this concept.

Helen shook her head in disbelief. "If that's so, why can't he just be... I don't know... cleaning the toilets at the Ministry... or waiting at tables in the Leaky Cauldron?! Have you then asked Rodolphus Lestrange to teach DADA too?!" She burst out angrily.

"No," professor Flitwick replied calmly. "I know it was somewhat of an-eh... unorthodox choice... I believe Poppy even compared it to an appointment of Livilla Veneous as the potions master..."

"Rightly so," Helen grumbled. Livilla Veneous was a notoriously known witch from the 17th century who was a potion mastermind of her time, however she chose to specialize in inventing all sorts of terrible and nasty poisons to get revenge at all men who had ever wronged her in any way. Helen thought that Poppy's analogy was utterly justified.

"Yet," Flitwick continued, "Lucius has got a vast knowledge when it comes to history of magic, he had read all the works that are relevant-"

"Well, I assume he had enough time for that while he was in _prison_," she murmured sarcastically.

"He has been teaching the last weeks in June – under controlled circumstances, he's been kept an eye at – and Minerva thought he did rather well... We were all a little... sceptical..."

Helen interrupted him: "You don't honestly believe that he had changed so much, that he threw his views and convictions out of the window over night, do you?"

"No," Flitwick said patiently, "but in these circumstances that was secondary. He isn't asked to preach his opinions, but to teach history, and as long as he can do the latter without the former, then-eh... we must accept it."

"But aren't you afraid that he is going to be indoctrinating the students the moment you become more slack, perhaps in a much more subtle way for you to notice? And before you know it your students will be believing that Voldemort was a-a... tragic hero of his time, a misunderstood visionary of a _better future_..."

They reached the courtyard and stepped out of the castle. Professor Flitwick nodded his head indulgently, he understood her concerns, yet: "There's nothing more I could say to reassure you than what I already did. The instance we'd get a suspicion that he is... as you put it _indoctrinating_ anyone... he'll be dismissed, I assure you."

She sighed and sat down on one of the benches.

Professor Flitwick, now eye to eye with her, asked her amused after a moment of silence: "Were we supposed to wait for years until you'd show up and gracefully decide to resume your post?"

"Hell yes!" She snapped, more out of frustration than out of anger, then sank her head into her hands. "I'm sorry," she said in a low, tired voice.

He sat down next to her. "It's been three years, Helena. You couldn't really have expected that. The provisorium we had, the arrangement with the ghost lasted for so long only because history wasn't considered a major subject around here. If it was Charms, or Transfiguration, it would have been filled much faster. We had to move on." He said in what was supposed to be an encouraging tone, but it made her only feel worse, for it reminded her of what George had said to her earlier: _everyone has moved on... we all have moved on with our lives, except for you..._

"But, if you want to stay," he continued when he saw her sad face, "I guess you could talk to Minerva, or perhaps to Horace. He's not retiring yet, but I hear him complaining every now and then, maybe he could agree to give away a few of his classes."

After a short pause of thinking Helen got up abruptly. "Alright, thank you very much, Filius. I will do that once Minerva is back. End of the month, right?"

He merely nodded, a little bewildered by the sudden change of her air.

"Good. I'll be off then."

"Well – where are you going?"

"Not sure yet. I heard Switzerland is nice at this time of year," she said brightly, gave him a hand, said good bye for now and left.

**Sunnydale**

The re-organizing and indexing of the books in his apartment took Giles several days and was surprisingly recreational and even rewarding: he had found a handful of volumes he thought were lost, and even some he hadn't known he possessed.

Yet after he was done with it, he again faced the emptiness and the feeling of lacking a purpose. The calls with tips about Buffy's possible whereabouts were getting more and more rare, and there were still almost two weeks to bridge until the start of the new school year.

He decided to clean and polish all of his weapons, asking himself at the same time just how much use he would have for them now that Buffy was gone. He wondered whether he and the Scoobies would now have more work at their hands with no slayer or whether it would get too boring for the vampires and the demons too, now they didn't have to worry about getting slain every time they crawled out, and would perhaps leave because of the lack of the adrenalin... But he knew that was a naïve and wishful thinking (plus adrenalin was probably something vampires didn't have anyway). If anything, the demons were probably throwing a huge party, a "requiem for the slayer" or something equally distasteful, wishing her dead wherever she was, and it wouldn't be too long before they'd become cheeky and go all rompish, making the streets and cemeteries uneasy again.

But right now all seemed calm in Sunnydale, Xander, Willow, Cordelia and Oz volunteered – some of them at least – to go on patrol every other night and Giles didn't object, only asked them to be careful. He continued his readings in the old medieval book. There was a lot he did not understand, many words, many subjects were referring to things from the wizarding world he had no way of knowing about. What was puzzling him though was the strong connection the texts were implying between the earth magick as he knew it and the "other" one, the magic of the wizards like Helen, who had wands. He had always thought that those two kinds were not to be mixed, that they in fact couldn't work alongside each other, that the possession of the one would automatically exclude any possible gifts of the other. And yet everything in this book would suggest otherwise.

**Somewhere in the Swiss Alps**

Upon her return to London Helen thought that she couldn't possibly spend another week in her apartment and that she could just as well go on another trekking trip to kill the time before she would be able to talk to Professor McGonagall. So a few days later she found herself in Graubünden in Switzerland, getting set up for the Via Valtellina, a 80 miles long trekking tour through the valleys of the Alps. To avoid the masses of the tourists on their holiday she occasionally left the marked path and went on her own, relying on her sense of direction that would always lead her the right way. One day though it almost looked as if she got lost and she was wandering for hours, pretty sure that she must have deviated from the marked path a great deal, when in the evening at long last she came across a small mountain hut called _Zum Zauberlehrling_. A huge wooden pointy hat hung over the letter _Z_ and the last _g_ was adorned by something that was probably supposed to be depicting a magic wand and sparkles, but whoever made it, clearly had a very wild imagination. _Too long, too crooked, too... multicoloured_. Helen smirked, _muggles_, and shook her head amused. _And God, what a lame name_."Sorcerer's apprentice"_? George would love this._

As she approached the house, she saw a few guests sitting outside at the wooden tables, drinking mostly beer from large beer mugs. Some clearly were locals, others seemed to be tourists, passing by just like her. She sat down at a free bench and took off her rucksack with a tired moan. She was exhausted and yet pleased with herself – the wandering was helping a lot not to think of anything else, as she had to concentrate entirely on the road ahead, on every step in the unknown terrain, on every rock she would set her foot on – all that was demanding her focus just enough to forget anything else, George, Hogwarts, Giles... And now here, in the middle of nowhere, with the sky coloured breathtakingly by the sun setting somewhere behind the mountains and the hills that were surrounding her, it almost felt like there _was _nothing else to think of. She decided she'd have a beer too and would ask the waiter if they had a free bed inside for the night. She was just wondering whether someone would come out at all to take an order or whether she had to go in, when an old man with long grey hair and grey beard stepped out of the house, carrying a tray with filled mugs, and walked towards one of the groups. Helen narrowed her eyes, it was getting dark very fast between the high peaks, she wasn't sure he had noticed her, so she waved her hand at him right after he had served his other guests. He gave a short nod acknowledging that he saw her, put the tray on a free table and was walking towards her. There was a slight toddle in his walk that reminded Helen of someone...

_AN: Thank you for reading. Lucius Malfoy teaching history – yeah, I know, pretty bad, but I just couldn't think of anyone else :) _

_Soon George will get some back-up and won't be the only one telling Helen off. Who the other person is, that you should see in the next update ;)_

_Pls. leave a comment, critics, any thought on this one is welcome._


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

_AN: Sorry for the long break, too much work and stuff. Thankfully, I've got a proper flu last week, so that I've been confined to bed and to my laptop since then and managed at least this short update. Not very eventful, though introducing one new character, on which I think I have to work some more, not very convincing yet._

* * *

As the grey haired innkeeper was toddling towards Helen she narrowed her eyes even more and looked him up and down, and gradually with each of his approaching steps her heart would beat faster and faster. _It couldn't be._.. she thought. She got up to her feet, excited and feeling too many things at once she made a step towards him, sensing her knees getting foamy and her hands sweaty and shaking as she was looking into his face with wide opened eyes. _It wasn't possible... and yet it was... but it wasn't... and yet..._

It took him a little longer to recognize her, but the instance he did he stopped abruptly and Helen noticed the clear jerk of his body and heard the loud sound that his feet made on the pebble stone when he came to the sudden halt. A few of the guests raised their eyes towards him, probably worrying if the old man was alright or about to have a seizure. After few seconds however, he moved again and the short moment when his face showed surprise was gone, he looked exactly as tired and as unfazed as before, so that Helen almost thought he hadn't actually realized who she was. But when he was only a few feet away he turned around and threw a stolen glance towards the nearest group of his guests, simply to estimate the distance between him and them and how quiet he would have to speak so that they wouldn't hear him.

Helen was staring at him, almost swallowing, absorbing every detail of his appearance, still not quite believing that it could be him.

He hasn't changed much though, there were few more wrinkles around his eyes, his hair was longer, but his peculiar grey eyes were still sparkling the way she remembered when he addressed her in a hushed whisper: "Helen, what are you doing here?" He did not wait for an answer, but turned around once more, and this time took a few seconds to observe each of his customers more carefully. Something about the way he asked it made Helen feel as if she had merely interrupted him in work, not at all suggesting that they haven't seen each other for over six years, during most of which she and everyone else had believed him dead.

She slowly opened her mouth, but didn't manage to utter any words yet, while she shook her head slightly, still utterly amazed. He finally reached her and placing one hand at her back with the other he indicated towards a spot a few yards away from them, where among a small group of trees stood a wooden bench.

"How do you come to be here?" He repeated his question, still in a damped voice.

Helen stopped, "Ah... duh?" and looked at him incredulously. "_Me_?! What are _you_ doing here?" She demanded in an angry whisper.

He shook his head: "No, no, I mean – what are you doing _here_?" He asked. He was born in Greece, but then spent most of his life in Wales which led to the very peculiar accent he spoke in and which, especially in the first weeks of their acquaintance had been making it difficult for Helen to take him too seriously, but was rather adding to the overall impression he was giving – of an old, benevolent grandpa. But she had learned soon enough that he could be the most strict, demanding, even unpleasant teacher.

She was now looking at him confused. "What do you mean _here_?"

"How did you get here? Did you aparate?"

"No," she replied, a little irritated that he was deviating from the obviously much more outrageous subject – him being alive. "I walked. I was doing the Via Valtellina and came off the route at some point... I got lost."

He frowned: "I do not understand... I have spells around here, I cast at least dozens of incantations to keep everyone out...," he was murmuring, and he noticed Helen turned questioningly towards the inn and the groups of his guests. "Anti-_wizard_ spells. Those are all muggles. No witches, no wizards, except for me and Martha," he added. "She's my other innkeeper," he answered yet another unspoken question.

Helen merely shrugged. "Maybe you've got your own hellmouth beneath too," she said dryly.

"What?"

"Nothing," she waved with a hand to let it go. "Apparently there's something wrong with your spells then."

He didn't reply for a moment, but gave her a piercing look. "Or... there is something wrong with you," he said slowly.

Likewise she took a few seconds before speaking, and decided to ignore his allusion and rather turn it against him: "With _me_? _I_ didn't disappear from the face of the earth, letting everyone believe I was dead for over four years," she hissed.

He stayed calmed. There was a loud whistle coming from the direction of the inn and as they turned around they saw an old, yet vivacious looking grey haired woman, wearing the local garb and an apron on top of it, with her hands raised into a questioning gesture. It had to be Martha. Márkos merely gave her a short wave towards the customers to beckon her to take care of them. Then he turned back at Helen.

"I read what you did, after the battle, after Severus had died," he again chose to dodge her attacks.

She looked at him in disbelief, as he shook his head and went on, being his usual, very straightforward self, often lacking any sense of tact: "I've never been so disappointed in anyone before," he stated.

"Oh, god, please tell me you too did not believe I did that because of him?!" She said louder, in an indignant tone, that was also showing how weary she was of the subject. "What I did had nothing to do with Severus. Not the way that awful Rita Skeeter had implied anyway." She paused to look at him intently as if she wanted to make sure that he understood and acknowledged what she had said, then she dropped her eyes on the ground, speaking in a more defensive tone this time: "There... was the wandlore between us, and Dumbledore-", yet her voice broke at this point and she made an odd sigh.

"Survivor's guilt?" Márkos asked, sounding a little more appeasing

She looked at him sharply, and for a while none of them spoke. Helen's initial joy of finding her former master disappeared entirely and a bitterness replaced it, annoyance even that she was having a conversation about things she thought she would never have to explain to anyone ever again.

However, Márkos, instead of letting go, kept rubbing salt into the re-opened wound: "When I heard what happened – I even thought I'd come over and really tell you off..."

"Well, you didn't," she said defiantly. "No one came...," she murmured, but almost immediately smirked at her own self-pity.

"What would your father say?" Márkos yet managed to top his previous reprehensions.

"How on Earth would I know that?" She retorted glumly, turning just a shade paler than she already was. "What kind of a question is that?" She sensed that she was trembling a little, this whole encounter seemed almost like a very vivid scene from one of her nightmares. Only it wasn't.

"What have you become, Helen? What happened to you?" He said, but Helen would not notice the more soothing tone of his voice as he stepped closer to her to lay a hand on her arm.

A bulge was beginning to form in her throat, the talk was taking the wrong direction, and when Márkos, always a bit clumsy with words that he intended for comfort, said: "I'd never have expected you to do such a stupid thing... you were the best apprentice I've ever had and now..."

Helen was already pursing her lips and groping for her wand.

"... what have you been doing since then? You can't fool me, you know that... don't get me wrong, I'm happy to see you... in a way..."

_Pop._ Helen had raised her wand and turned on her spot, only one thought on her mind – to put a proper distance between her and him, between her and this conversation.

She landed on her knees and hands, and managed to crawl towards the sofa in her London apartment, and leaned with her back against it before passing out. When she came back to herself, she threw her wand in one corner of her living room in a mixture of frustration about and defiance of her remaining magic. During the next couple of days her nose was in a constant on- and off-bleeding mode, as the long-distance aparition claimed its prize, and she was forced to stay in, spending most of the time lying on the sofa, with Elgar's Pomp and Circumstance filling the room as loudly as possible, so that she wouldn't hear the droning of her head or the reproachful voice of Márkos that despite her efforts to turn it off kept returning to her tirelessly. She would only get up to pick the delivery – food or books she ordered – or to pour herself a glass of wine.

She was still in her horizontal position, lying spread on the sofa and hence barely appreciating the fact that her physical state was back to normal, when on the fifth day there was a loud knock at her door. Knowing she hadn't ordered anything to eat – yet, as it was only an early afternoon – she frowned and then cried loudly and in a tone that was clearly suggesting the person, whoever it was, should sod off: "Who is it?!"

"Emrys," George Weasley replied in a deep voice, joking.

Helen was unimpressed as she shouted back: "Well go back to Camelot then! Nothing to see here."

It did not surprise her when she heard him unlock the door, and then his slow footsteps echoing in the half empty apartment, as he was looking for her. He shouted _"Silencio"_ and the record playing March No. 4 instantly fell silent.

"What part of _go away_ did you not understand?" She asked quietly, without raising her eyes from some boulevard magazine she pretended to be reading.

George came to stand in front of the sofa, his hands in his pockets, his look swept across the room. There were several half empty Chinese meal boxes scattered on the floor along with dozens of blood-soaked tissues, a few phials with what looked like some of the most unpalatable potions he had seen at Madame Pompfrey's laid on the coffee table along with a couple of wine bottles and piles of apparently new, still untouched and wrapped books.

"Nice," George said, nodding his head and mocking admiration.

"Thanks," she replied. "I'd offer you something, but... I won't. Partly because I don't have anything left in my fridge, and partly," she paused for a moment, before continuing more poignantly, "because I'm still sort of hoping you'll get the hint... and _leave_."

"Well, what can I say," George sighed and threw himself into the leathern armchair next to her, "I never was one for taking hints."

Only now she let the magazine fall onto her lap and turned her head towards him, and had to close her eyes briefly as if the look at him caused her pain. She expected him to start a new assault, and after the encounters of the past few weeks since her return she really thought she couldn't take any more. Yet George didn't seem to be out for a fight. His next question indicated that he did not wish to give her another harangue and made Helen hope that he had simply accepted that she was back and would not poke in her reasons anymore.

"So, how have you been? Trekking again I assume? _Upon England's mountains' green?_" He asked brightly.

"Switzerland," she murmured.

"Ah... Switzerland then," he raised his brows and gave a pointed look at all the bloody handkerchiefs that told him she must have cast some major spells. He was guessing: " ... where you decided... to... do what? ... exterminate all the yodel-clubs with a single curse?"

For the first time she suppressed a smile, and found it a bit disturbing at once that George should know of the existence of such things as yodelers. "Not quite." She sat up at last. She looked the usual shade of pale, with dark circles still remaining under her eyes, her hair was messed and she obviously hadn't changed her clothes in a while. "Never mind," she said tiredly. "I don't want to talk about it."

George rolled his eyes. "Oh, thank Merlin, I'm relieved to hear that," he drawled, "I was almost afraid you were gonna lavish your whole story on me, the way you always share."

"I was just doing some wanderings, to kill the time until I can talk to Professor McGonagall about the post, but... then I decided to return home earlier," she said simply. She would not tell him about meeting Márkos, though not merely for selfish reasons, but also because she doubted that the old wizard would have wanted it. After all he had been on the missing list since four years by his own choice.

"What post?" George asked, puzzled.

"My former teaching post..."

"But isn't Lucius Malfoy teaching history now?" George frowned.

For a moment Helen stared at him with an open mouth. "You knew about that?!"

George looked at her as if he did not understand her outrage.

"_You_ know about that?!" She asked again and leaned towards him, looking daggers.

"Yes, I do, and so do hundreds of other people," he said irritated.

She jumped to her feet. "I can't believe you haven't told me! Lucius Malfoy – getting _my_ post!" She was speaking very loudly now.

"Calm down! I did not think it was of any importance for you!" He said, his anger was raising now too. "Plus it just went under in the middle of everything else," he added through pressed teeth, hoping she would remember that he had become a father about the same time, and had his worries focused far away from Hogwarts, or Lucius Malfoy. "I forgot all about it-"

She glanced at him incredulously. "How could you _forget_ – to mention something like that to me? _Not_ _important_?!" She shouted now. "What else-"

George had had it. He cut her short: "No, no, no, no, no! _You_ don't get to be pissed, Helen, _I_ get to be pissed!" He was stabbing his finger against her, she had rarely known his voice sounding this mad – though he didn't yell, it was the quiet kind of being really irate, but it was all the more effective, he underlined almost every single word: "After all I've done, after everything I went through to keep you in that place – checking on you every fortnight, visiting, bringing you stuff from London, hunting down blasted books for you only so that you'd bloody well stay there, you know – bond with him, be just... merry and fine, happy,... and you repay me like this – by leaving him because of a few silly nightmares!" He repeated, once again pointing out the absurdity of her behaviour, because that was how it appeared to him – absurd and ungrateful. And not only where he was concerned. He liked Giles.

She did not know what to say to that. She has never thought about that. And it confused her. That George, though nagging every single time, would go to all those lengths for the sole reason to push her closer to Giles. Somehow that was a lot to process for her at that moment.

"Helen?" George's voice brought her back out of her musings. "Helen?"

"Hm?" She raised her dark, almost black eyes at him, looking a little paralyzed.

"Anyway, I haven't come here to do this. I wanted to invite you to our late birthday party – Fred's birthday party."

"Your son," she said.

"Yes," he confirmed louder, piercing at her, as she appeared to be somewhat numb. "Glad you remembered. We're having a little gathering at the Burrow on Sunday. I – we – would like you to come, since you're here now."

_God, that sounds like the last thing I'd wanna go to right now_. The words were on her tongue, but she stopped herself in time, when she saw his stern glance.

"Alright," she said calmly and a trace of smile flitted across her face. "I'll be there."

"Good." George crossed his arms, visibly enjoying this little victory.

"Anything else?" She asked.

"Oh, yes," he eased again as he remembered. "We're meeting Angelina in an hour in Diagon Alley. So I suggest you hurry, change your clothes, and for Merlin's sake take a shower before you do."

She opened her mouth to object.

"No," George cut her off and stretched his arm to point a direction.

She frowned as her eyes followed his stabbed finger and George now turned to his right to see that he had been pointing towards the fireplace. He let his arm fall, murmuring. "Right. Wherever your bathroom is."

Helen grinned and at leaving the room she heard him say to himself: "I hate this place of yours."

"Do you mind if I clean here up a bit?" George shouted after a while as he bent down to pick one of the empty delivery meal boxes while Helen was still in her bathroom. Then he straightened up suddenly, frowning in disgust with himself: "There's a question I've never thought I'd ask..."

"Depends on your concept of cleaning," Helen shouted back through the closed bathroom door. "If it's putting away the rubbish and washing the dishes – then yes, if it's hiding dungbombs and fire spitting little toy-dragons underneath my sofa or placing screeching Umbridge-traps in my tap – then no, thanks!"

"Ahhh," George paused and looked wistfully out of the window, remembering the former short-time Hogwarts headmistress . "I _do _miss her sometimes... the world without her seems so much less..." He paused, pondering over the right word.

"Pink?" Helen stepped out of her bathroom, fully dressed.

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_AN: I know you miss Giles, me too, he'll soon be back in the picture, promised :) Nevertheless, leave a review or a message, I'd like to know what you think, about the characters, dialogues etc. _


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